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By SAMUEL HOEFFLIN. 



Pal:]iog, 



Sentiment 

and ^^pu'&ii. 



Price, (words only) Ten Cents. 



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PUBLISHEB BT 

HOEFFLIN-GROSS PUBLISHING COMPANY 

623 Pottawatomie St., 

Leavenworth, Kansas. 



Copyright MCMI, by H. S. Hoefflin 
All rights reserved. 



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/ 






TO THE PUBLIC. 



You will notice that this little booklet contains matter 
suited to all manner of men, but is especially adapted to work 
along reform lines. The author, realizing the lack of suitable 
songs for all occasions, sends forth this collection to partially 
meet tliat need. 

The verse being arranged in ballad form, reform workers 
and others can easily sing them to melodies of their own or 
otherwise (no music edition in publication at this time, 1901) ; 
but must not publish verses herein contained to music of their 
own, or otherwise infringe on copyright. "Heart Feelings in 
Song," will be sold at very reasonable rates to those who are 
interested in the good work. May the book fall into the hands 
of some fainting soul and accomplish the mission upon which 
it is sent. Write for prices. 

HOEFFLIN-GROSS PUB. CO., 

623 Pottawatomie Street, 

Leavenwokth, Kansas. 



N. B. — The choruses In these songs are meant to be repeated after each 
verse. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

A Christian Mother 4 

Always in the Way 8 

Come to the Savior 11 

Don't Forget to Write to Mother 3 

Friends 6 

God Cares 13 

God's Way .16 

Irene's Song 5 

Little Words of Kindness 12 

Men 22 

My Shepherd 10 

No Room for Mother 15 

Only a Little Baby Shoe 18 

Poor Little Jim 7 

Sisters in Sorrow 8 

Speak to a Man When He's Down 21 

The Cry of the Heart 19 

The Doves 20 

Uncle Remns' Views 14 

Who's to Blame 17 



HEART FEELINGS IN SONG. 



By SAMUEL HOEFFLIN. 



DON'T NEGLECT TO WRITE TO MOTHER. 

Don't neglect to write to mother; 

Don't forget your mother's prayers. 
Deeper are the furrows growing, 

Bringing more of those gray hairs 
Every time the postman passes, 

Brings a tear, perhaps a sigh. 
Oh, don't grieve your dear old mother; 

You will rue it bye and bye. 

Chorus — 

Ne'er a son so deep has fallen. 

Or a daughter gone astray. 
But a mother will reclaim them, 

And forgive them right away. 
She will follow you in sickness. 

To protect from fever's blight ; 
And to thus neglect your mother. 

Oh, you know, that isn't right. 

Once a son from home had wandered ; 

Did not write to mother dear. 
And the mother mourned and waited 

For him who did not appear. 
When he came home from his wand'rings, 

She lay 'neath a fresh made mound. 
No one let him know, because they 

Knew not where he could be found. 



[4] 
A CHRISTIAN MOTHER. 

( Dedicated to my sister, Mrs. C. R. Gross.) 

Amid the dingy prison walls, 

As I was passing by, 
I saw within a lonely cell 

A man condemned to die. 
"Oh, why have you neglected Christ? 

Come to Him now, my brother." 
He only answered, " Would to God 

I'd had a Christian mother." 

Choeus — 

Yes, some poor boys, and maidens too, 

Were never taught to pray; 
A mother's love they never knew, 

And thus were led astray; 
You're not so much ahead of some 

Who into traps were lured. 
And that you were not overcome 

You ought to praise the Lord. 

The sweetest picture to my mind, 

Is of a little tot, 
A-learning at its mother's knee 

The lessons ne'er forgot ; 
Some day when mother's dead and gone. 

Though he ma}" go astra}^. 
He'll come back to his mother's God, 

Because he learned to pray. 

All men and maids are prone to sin, 

And apt to go astray, 
xVnd when they get out in the world 

Temptations come their way; 
I can remember when, I thought 

Of taking the wrong track; 
Temptations nearly won, but 

Mother's prayers called me buck. 



[5] 

Oh, dear young man, if you have known 

A Christian mother's love. 
Thank God, and live so that you'll meet 

Her in that home above. 
Oh, let her tears not fall for you, 

In vain her prayers ascend; 
If mother is no more, make 

Mother's God your dearest friend. 



IRENE'S SONG. 

In this world I long had wandered. 

Sought in vain for peace and rest; 
Many weary days had squandered, 

Till I found that sweetest rest; 
Oh, the years of sinning wasted; 

They can bring me but regret. 
Since I of His love have tasted, 

Jesus only can forget. 

Chorus — 

In this woi-ld is naught but sorrow, 
None but Christ can comfort give. 

Brother wait not for the morrow. 
Look to Jesus now and live. 

Since His bounteous love hath found me, 

And my life is rich and new, 
I want every one around me 

To accept my Jesus too. 
As a mother loves her children, 

So is Jesus' love to me ; 
I have something far more precious, 

Than the world can offer me. 



[G] 

FRIENDS. 

Worldly friends are pleasant, lingering at your board, 
Smoking up your cigars, drawing on your hoard; 
But when you're in trouble — need a friend who's true, 
They will leave you to yourself; they don't care for you. 
When you cannot help yourself and you're short of food. 
You will find the Christians clever, true and good ; 
Then the truly Christian heart with compassion yearns; 
They will help and do for you, asking no returns. 

Choeus — 

Christian friends are better 

Than the kind you buy; 
They won't try to ruin you — 

Scorn you bye and bye. 
Blessed is the pathway 

Which their Master trod, 
And the truest friend of all 

Is the Christian's God. 

When those who are dear to you lay in fever's thrall. 
And you need somebody's help, on whom would you call? 
Then the Christian women will donate their flowers. 
And will watch tiie sick-bed through the midnight hours; 
When the doctor shakes his bead — doesn't say a word — 
They will say, "Your burden cast upon the Lord;" 
When that white and rigid face fills you with despair, 
Some old Christian mother will your sorrow share. 

Yes, with all their failings, Christian friends are true; 
They don't fawn and fiatter 'cause you pay them to; 
They will try to help you form a higher aim; 
Trusting much to worldly friends is a risky game. 
When your hours are numbered, everything is still, 
And your kin advise you to arrange your will. 
Then you'll call the preacher to pray and help you get 
A fire insurance policy while you are living yet. 



[7] 

POOR LITTLE JIM. 

Dedicated to Dr, Jno. B. DeMotte, Greencastle, Ind. 

[In one of his excellent lectures at Baker University, Baldwin, Kansas, 
Dr. DeMotte told a story of a neglected little boy, who was overheard to 
pray, " Great God, please make room for a tired little boy In Heaven."] 

The guardians were cruel to poor little Jim, 
Nobody cared what became of him ; 
His father a toper, his mother was dead, 
And this was the prayer the little boy prayed: 

Chorus — 

"Great God, please make room for a tired little bo}^, 
There where poor Jimmie will no one annoy; 
There where the beautiful angels be, 
There where my mamma is waiting for me." 

"I long for my mamma, she loved me I know; 
Now I have no one to whom I can go; 
I want to lie down with my head on her breast, 
There where she said she was going to rest." 

The moonlight stole soft through the little bedroom, 
And the cry of a child pierced the quiet and gloom. 
As the little boy knelt at the foot of his bed, 
"Oh, Jesus, come to take me to heaven," he said. 

It happened that night that an angel passed by. 
And heard through the darkness the little boy's cry. 
God answered the prayer the little boy said, 
And away with poor Jimmie the angel then sped. , 

They found him next morning in his poor little bed. 
And the news went the rounds, "Orphan Jimmie is dead." 
But the lone little boy had a smile on his face, 
For Jimmie had gone to that beautiful place. 

Chorus for Last Verse — 
And God had made room for that tired little boy. 
There where poor Jimmie would no one annoy; 
There where his mamma was waiting for him, 
That's where the angels took poor little Jim. 



[8] 

ALWAYS IN THE WAY. 

Quoth a cross, unthinking mother, 
To her little girl one day, 

Angry words that seem to echo from the dead, 
"Go, you everlasting bother." 
And the little girl obeyed ; 
But the tender heart was broken as she said: 

Chorus — 

"Thum day, mamma, oo' will tal' me, 

But I won't tum' any more." 

So the sighing breezes ever seem to say ; 

And when e'er a baby prattles 

Comes that picture o'er and o'er. 

Of the daughter who was always in the way. 

Down the street that summer's morning 

Came a team unchecked and wild. 

Treading down the little flower in the way; 

And we see a mother mourning 

For her only little child. 

And the breezes seem to sigh and softly say : 

"Mamma, tell me," said the baby, 

As the evening shadows fell, 
"When I det to where the pretty angels play. 

Will they say oo' little baby, 

Don't oo' know it, tant oo' tell; 

Will they say oo' little baby in the way?" 



SISTERS m SORROW. 

The lady of the mansion was cultured, rich and smart. 
But death had robbed her of her babe, and left an aching 

heart ; 
And every morn she visited a little sacred spot, 
To strew the choicest blossoms on the grave of little Dot. 



[9] 

One day while she was walking through a charming wood- 
land old, 
She saw a touching picture which its own sad story told, 
A camper woman, gathering the roses of the wild, 
Laying them so tenderly upon her infant child. 

Chorus — 
The lady of the mansion with another shared her tears. 
Though she had only thought of self through all her happy 

years. 
Aye, there was tender sympathy between those sorrowing 

mothers. 
For having suffered some ourselves, helps us to feel for others. 

The infant of the camper woman lay in death's embrace; 
Its mother sat there mourning, while the tears ran down her 

face; 
And the lady of the mansion knelt beside that rugged cot. 
And told the camper woman all about her little ])ot. 
The roses she had gathered — the choicest from her yard — 
She laid them on the camper's child with tenderest regard. 
She listened to the sweet things which the camper's child 

^ d said, 
And tried to help the other who was mourning for her dead. 

" Oh ! " cried the camper mother, " to me the saddest thought 
Is that the last, lone cradle of my child will be forgot; 
We movers cannot stay in any one or certain place. 
And some folks haven't got an undisturbed resting place. 
The weeds will cover o'er the mound, the dead leaves fade 

and fall. 
And no one will remember that little grave at all." 
Tben said the other mother with voice sweet and serene, 

"You lay your child beside my Dot, and I'll keep both 
graves green." 



[10] 

MY SHEPHERD. 

1 wandered o'er the mountain wild, 

And vainly sought relief, 
A wayword disobedient child, 

And sin my greatest grief; 
In vain the Shepherd offered me 
Hope, Heaven, freedom, grace ; 

Eepeatedly I scorned His plea, 
And sinned before His face. 

Chorus — 

Oh 1 am glad that Jesus found me. 

And shed the beams of grace around me ; 
Oh I am glad he died for me, 

And hath my soul from sin set free. 

I laughed to scorn His Holy Word, 

" Ye weary come to me," 
The enemy became my lord, 

A hard task-master he. 
He fed my soul on grainless chaff, 

He heeded not my cry, 
At my condition dared to laugh, 

And left me there to die. 

The Shepherd came; how tenderly 

He broke those serpent bands ; 
I still imagine I can see 

The nail-prints in His hands; 
Oh, how my soul did then rejoice! 

He clasped me to his breast; 
To-day I know the Shepherd's voice. 

He gives me peace and rest. 

Though from His mercy often I 
Have wandered o'er the plain. 

He ever hears my needy cry, 
And takes me in again. 



[11] 

He paid a higher price for me 
Than I can e'er be worth ; 

'Tis bliss a child of God to be, 
And Heaven begins on earth. 



COME TO THE SAVIOR. 

Maybe you once in the paths have trod. 

But 3^ou have drifted away. 
How does your record stand with God? 

Better find out to-day. 
Long you have wandered in paths of sin; 

Finding your pleasure in things unclean. 
Jesus will pardon you, take you in ; 

Quickly arise and obey. 

Chorus — 

Oh, come to the Savior; 

Do not delay, quickly obey. 
Oh, come to the Savior; 

He only can give you rest. 

May be you're moral in all you do — 

Eisky foundation to trust. 
May be you pick at the Christians, too. 

Be born again, you must. 
May be we're not what we ought to be; 

That will not prove an excuse for thee, 
And will not settle eternity; 

Better get saved to-day. 

' May be you fear that you can't be true. 

Not till you give up your all. 
Then, while the Savior is holding you. 

How are you going to fall? 
But if you willingly evil do, 

Then he will cut the acquaintance, too; 
Tell you at last that he ne'er knew you. 

What are you going to say? 



[12;] 

UTTLE WORDS OF KINDNESS. 

Workers in the field and vineyard 

Grathered round the heavenly throne, 
For to give account in judgment 

Of the deeds that they had done. 
Many brought their sheaves in numbers, 

Others but the gleaner's share. 
Many brought the perfect clusters, 

Others some but passing fair. 

Chorus — 

Some who are eflScient workmen, 

Do no more than God requires. 
God knows all the burning heartaches, 

And the heart's inmost desires. 
There the haughty will be humbled. 

And the lowly one be blest ; 
And our fruit of labor measured 

By the talents we possessed. 

" Come, sir talent," quoth the Savior, 

"Tell me all: What hast thou done?" 
"I have preached the word to many. 
Multitudes I've touched and won. 
Great my name among earth's mortals. 
Great the praise I've won from^man." 
But the Savior told him, saying: 
"Thou art mortal minded man." 

Next, a cripple, poor and lowly. 

Trembling stood before his Ijord: 
" Only little words of kindness. 

And quotations from thy word. 
Sheaves I've none, nor that I know of 

Sinners rescued from the fall." 
But the Lord said: " Come, thou blest one, 

Thou hast done more than they all." 



[13] 
GOD CARES. 

I entered once a tenement, 

The rooms were bare and cold ; 
The few and simple furnishings, 

Their own sad story told. 
And I said as I descended 

The rickety old stairs, 
So many people suffer want, 

And yet nobody cares. 

Chorus — 

No matter what your troubles, 

A higher power reigns; 
A God who sympathizes 

With us in all our pains. 
Oh, yes, the Lord is int'rested 

In all of our affairs. 
So then, oh soul, take heart and know that 
Grod cares." 

I saw a man who long bad lain 

Upon a cheerless cot, 
A pauper at the countj^-house, 

By relatives forgot. 
"I oft cry out in pain," said he, 

"No one my sorrow shares; 
The warden waits to bury me 

And yet nobody cares." 

Oh, take your woes to Jesus Christ, 

The man of Calvary, 
He knows just how to feel for you, 

And helps from day to day. 
Your burdens he will lighten, 

And from pain relieve the smart, 
(He's good on things along that line,) 

And purifies the heart. 



[14] 

UNCLE REMUS' VIEWS. 

De reason some who say dey're Christians don't amount to 

noffin', 
Is 'cause dey didn't done hab no experience ob de heart : 
Dey putdair name down on a card, a kind of gentle bluffin', 
And ob de congregation dey becomes a leadin' part. 
De preacher says, "We want you sinners wid us in connec- 
tion, 
An' if you want to jine us you jus' meekly raise yo' ban'." 
And everybody bows dair heads wid courteous perfection, 
To spare de tender feelin's ob de timid sinner man. 

Chorus — 

Some were never disconcerted and have never been con- 
verted, 

And de only way you'd know de're Christians is by what 
dey say. 

Yes, there'll be a mixup-ation, an' a general thin-nation. 

An' a awful scatteration, 

On that comin' Judgment day, 

De Lord requires more dan just a little reformation. 
De church am got too many members loosely taken in ; 
And if you're figurin' to escape dat comin' conflagration, 
Dere mus' be true repentance an' a cleansin' from all sin. 
Tou am not fit to jine the church until yo' got salvation. 
You'd better start to prayin' an' keep at it till you know 
Dat your perfession ob religion ain't no fakir-ation, 
Dat you can take de Lord with yo' where'er you chance 
to go. 

You cannot cheat an' gamble some an' make it right on 

Sunday, 
You cannot beat your creditors an' drink some on the sly. 
De people judge your piet}^ by what you do on Monday; 
An' dis is what you'll have to give account for bye an' bye. 



[15] 

De Lord is ready to redeem you an' become your Master, 
We nebber heard of sinner dat he ebber turned away. 
But you be sure about yo' case — a letter from yo' pastor 
Ain't gwiue to help yo' out much on dat great an' trying 
day. 



NO ROOM FOR MOTHER. 

Amid the rustle of the silks, the glitter of the gold, 

A mother, to a stranger, her pathetic story told, 

While waiting at the station, for the train now over due. 

She told to sympathizing ears, a story that was true. 

She'd labored for her children, Susan, Lue, and little Eay, 

Until her hands were shapeless and her auburn hair turned 

grey, 
Her eyes had lost their lustre, there were furrows on her 

brow, 
But Susan, Lue, and Eaymond had no room for mother now. 

Chorus — 

No room for mother, none to embrace. 
No one to love the dear old faded face. 
Strangers may bid her a welcome to-day, 
Fate will get even with them — some day. 

Her children, so the world believed, were cultured, rich and 

smart, 
But mother found no welcome in their mansions or their 

hearts ; 
They now were going to send her to an aged people's home, 
Where she would grieve her life away, and wait for death 

to come. 

The stranger's eyes had filled with true and sympathetic 

tears, 
A mother's love she hadn't known for many weary years. 
She brushed the drops of anguish from the dear old faded 

face, 

And mother found a welcome by the stranger's fire-place. 



[16] . 
GOD'S WAY. 

" It is God's way ; His will be done."— Wm. MoKinlby. 

Joe and Nell were twinnies, bright and charming girls; 
Both had eyes of heaven's blue, and golden curls. 
Both were laid on beds of sickness; Josie died, 
Bringing sorrow to that home aad fireside. 
The father, who was sexton, dug a grave for Joe 
Where the weeping willows and the daisies grow; 
And the parents in their grief did plead and pray 
God to spare their Nell. God let them have their way. 

Chorus — 

Sometimes God will let us run our own affairs, 
Listens to and answers our selfish prayers ; 
He knows what is best for us from day to day, 
It is always best to let Him have His way. 

Nellie lived and married; sad was Nellie's life. 

Home meant but a lion's den, she a toper's wife. 

Often came he home to quarrel and carouse, 

Oft' she bore the marks made by her cruel spouse; 

Till the love she had for him did turn to scorn, 

And her children said they wished they'd ne'er been born. 

And her hair, once bright and golden, turned to gray ; 

All because God let her parents have their way. 

Scorned by those who knew her, bufl'eted and cursed, 
Every virtue sacrificed to feed his thirst. 
This was more than she could stand — her reason fled, 
And her helpless babes she murdered in their bed; 
And her stricken parents wept their bitterest tears. 
Father said while looking back o'er the by-gone years, 
" Would that I bad dug a grave for both that day. 
Would to God that we had let Him have His way." 



[17] 



WHO'S TO BLAME. 

To Bethel on the noon express 

A well wrapped package came, 
'Twas mildly labeled, but 'twas 

Something stronger just the same. 
'Twas for the judge, a righteous man, 

Who stood in reverence high, 
Belonged to Church and Sunday School, 

But drank some on the sly. 

Chorus — 

Oh, who's to blame for helpless cries 

That pierce the midnight air? 
A righteous God will surely judge; 

There'll be a reckoning there 
Before the judgment throne of God, 

There'll be a reckoning there. 

The agent, who was switchman, too. 

This liquid package bore 
To the express room, tripped and fell, 

And spilled some on the floor. 
He saw the well filled bottles burst; 

The sparkling liquid's flow 
Aroused in him that craving thirst 

That led him to his woe. 

The midnight train came dashing on 

Through the December storm ; 
The switch was open, river high, 

No red light, no alarm. 
The drunken switchman knew not how 

Those precious lives to save, 
And all on that excursion train 

Found there a watei*y grave. 



[18] 
ONLY A LITTLE BABY SHOE. 

Dedicated to Dr. Jno. B, De Motte, Greencastle, Ind. 

[Dr. De Motte, In one of his lectures at Baker University, told a toucti- 
ing story of a drunken woman who, when arrested by the police, held some- 
thing in her grimy flst which she refused to part with. The unfeeling 
officers brutally forced open her hand, to find therein only a little baby shoe.] 

The patrol wagon stopped at a low down place, 
To pick up a woman with a vile, red face; 
Some mother's daughter, who had gone astray, 
Far from the Shepherd's fold away. 
The woman held something in her dirty fist, 
Which to know the officers did insist; 
Only a memory of love so true — 
Only a little baby shoe. 

Chorus — 

Only a little baby shoe, 

Only a little baby shoe. 

Only a memory of a soul that's been 

Saved fi'om a life of shame and sin. 

From her bloodshot eyes trickled many a tear. 
As she told how her baby had left her here; 
How she tried to shelter and keep him warm. 
But the landlord sent 'em out into the storm. 
Her life wasn't nothin' since her boy was dead, 
" Only a vag," all the people said; 
How he held out his hands, and said "Goo-goo" — 
Only a little baby shoe. 

Every poor street wand'rer has a human heart. 
And sometimes memories will make tears start; 
Ev'ry low down sinner has a soul to save; 
We're all about one size in the grave. 
Jesus will help you if to him you cry — 
Take you to heaven when your time comes to die, 
There where your little baby says, "Goo-gob" — 
Only a little baby shoe. 



[19] 



THE CRY OF THE HEART. 

Many years for happiness I vainly sought, 
And my poor heart was hungry for I knew not what; 
I sought the world of business, and the social realm, 
But somehow didn't seem to find a fitting balm. 
At length I came to Jesus: oh, that happy time! 
My burden rolled away, and now I'm feeling prime. 
That discontented, hungry feeling all is gone, 
And I am singing praises to Him all day long. 

Chorus — 

Oh, yes, the heart cries out for God, 

And He can satisfy, 
He'll make life seem like heaven here. 

And you won't long to die; 
He has the balm for all the ills 

That harm the human race. 
You'd better go and have a talk 

With Him about your case. 

Often since I've noticed people grinding chafi". 

Men whose hearts were breaking, though they tried to laugh. 

How I longed to take them to the fountain's side. 

Where the burdens roll away, and tears are dried. 

If there's something wrong with you — if your heart is sad, 

Christ, the burden lifter. He can make you glad. 

Peace with God and love for man, this will satisfy, 

And you need not be afraid, when you come to die. 



[20] 



THE DOVES. 

Amid the woodland's mossy dell, 

The lofty tree, and green, 
Two cooing doves in modest glee. 

Were happy and serene. 

The thoughtless brook still ripples on, 
By woodland flowers prest; 

That cooing voice has silent grown— 
There's sorrow in the nest. 

Last Sunday morn a lady fair, 

In elegant attire. 
While waiting at the house of prayer. 

One could not help admire. 

She seemed a queen of light and love. 

An angel and all that — 
The feathers of the woodland dove 

Were woven in her hat. 

She taught the boys in Sunday School 

All cruel actions stay, 
The beauty of the Golden Rule 

And mercy's kindl}^ way. 

Her little girl she sweetly kissed, 

And heaven for her blest; 
Nor knew the woodland birdies missed 

Their fledgling from the nest. 



[21] 



SPEAK TO A MAN WHEN HE'S DOWN. 

Have you ever found out in adversity's hour 

The value of kind words from those whom you met? 
When, weary and fainting, they gave you fresh power, 

And half of your troubles you seemed to forget? 
Have you ever found out, when the world seemed against you; 

Friends coldly passed by, as you met on the street? 
No fresh ray of hope for the future entranced you, 

Nor aided the tired and wandering feet. 

Chorus — 

If ever you've known what it is to be weary, 

With friends disappointing you every day. 
With a pain at the heart while the whole world seems dreary, 

And icy December is blending in May; 
Then, when you see others in trouble enshrouded. 

Your sympathy tender instead of a frown, 
Remember the days when your own skies were clouded. 

And speak to a man when he's down. 

How often, unheeded, have harsh words been spoken, 

As we, in a hurry, passed carelessly by; 
So ruthlessly crushing the heart that was broken. 

And leaving some poor soul to languish and die; 
While, may be, a kind word in sympathy given 

Would make the world better for many around : 
Aye, many a heart has in sorrow been riven. 

While young hope was cruelly dashed to the ground. 



[22] 



MEN. 

Men wanted everywhere, men who are true ; 

Men of backbone, and conviction too; 
Men not afraid to stand up' for the right, 

Men who abhor every evil at sight; 
Who do not compromise, or duty shirk. 

Who do not think it degrading to work; 
Wlio do not go in bad company — men, 

Yes, there is always a place for real men. 

Chorus — 

Yes, men are wanted on every hand, 

Cigarette holders are not in demand; 
Men who have courage enough to say no 

When they are tempted and tried by the foe; 
Men whom no little impediment bars, 

Men who can think without smoking cigars; 
Who have more grit than a rabbit or hen, 

Men who are manly — not dudelets — but men. 

Men not ashamed ot their mother's gray hairs, 

Men who are int'rested in home affairs; 
Men who are courteous, thoughtful and kind; 

Men who are pure, and respect womankind. 
Men who are ready their brothers to save, 

Who do not tremble at thought of the grave; 
Men who are loyal to God and the State — 

Not always prominent, but always great. 



3477-17^ 
Lot 53 






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